


Time To Lose

by Sandyclaws68



Series: 100 Years To Live [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Dad-chi and Suga-momma, Family Feels, Gen, High School Graduation, M/M, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:15:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7227619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandyclaws68/pseuds/Sandyclaws68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's never easy to graduate and move on to the next stage of life, but knowing things are in good hands helps.</p>
<p>
  <i>One can never have too many memories.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time To Lose

The locker door swung shut harder than was intended, the metallic _CLANG_ echoing in the all but empty room.

“Sorry,” Asahi whispered, not turning around. His shoulders were hunched up, bringing his shirt collar in contact with his ears.

Daichi and Suga exchanged a glance, with the latter giving his head an almost infinitesimal shake. He knew that something needed to be said, but now was probably not the best time. Emotions were a little too close to the surface as they cleaned out their lockers, knowing that it was the end of their volleyball careers at Karasuno. Tomorrow, after the graduation ceremony, would be better. It would still be emotional, but in a different way.

“I. . . Uh. . .” His voice caught, and Asahi coughed to clear his throat. “I've already said good-bye to everyone, so I'd rather not. . .” His face flushed. “I'll just be going home, then. I'll see you two tomorrow.” And then he was gone before either of them could say a word.

“That was -” Daichi began.

“Odd? Strange? Not like Asahi at all?” Suga put in, rummaging in the bottom of his locker to make sure he didn't leave anything behind.

Daichi laughed a little. “Actually, I think it was quite a bit like his normal self. A little timid, even diffident. No, I just thought he would be more comfortable with the good-byes.”

Suga sighed as he dropped to his knees to reach the very back of the locker; there were some loose papers there and he was not going to leave a mess for his successor as vice-captain. “I know how he feels, though,” he said, voice distorted by the close proximity of metal. “I said something like a good-bye to everyone earlier as well.” He pulled his hand back, with the papers, and rose to his feet with a small smile. “Individually, I mean. I didn't want to face them as a group.”

“Do you want to just leave, then?” the darker-haired boy asked, reaching out and running a hand from Suga's shoulder to his elbow. “Or you can wait for me at the gate. I won't be long; I don't want to disrupt practice.”

“I'll go with you. Just let me -” He moved toward the trash can, intending to pitch the papers in it, when he caught sight of the heading on one of them. His breath caught.

“Suga?”

Suga shook his head, blinking against the sudden rush of tears. Daichi came close and took the papers, knowing immediately which one had caused this reaction.

It was a copy of the flier that Yachi had made, soliciting donations for the club. The flier that had received such a positive response, making it possible for them to attend the summer training camp in Tokyo. The flier that had made Hinata and Kageyama into local celebrities, even before all of the victories that followed. “Oh,” he said, all too aware of the sudden huskiness in his voice. He looked at Suga, at his lowered head, the curve of his cheek just visible under the fall of ash-colored hair. “Do you want to keep it?”

“Yes. No.” A deep inhale. “I don't know.” He lifted his head to Daichi's gaze. “Do you. . .?

Daichi nodded. “Yes, I kept a copy.” One corner of his mouth twitched. “Along with copies of all of the tournament brackets, both prefectural and national. And the scorecards. And the newspaper articles, the _Volleyball Monthly_ magazine layout -”

Suga pressed a finger to his lips to stop the flow of words. “I never would have taken you for such a sentimentalist, Sawamura-san,” he commented with a grin, making the former team captain blush.

“Yeah, well, some things are worth getting sentimental over,” Daichi replied with a chuckle. And speaking of -” He pulled his phone out of a pocket and gestured Suga to move closer to the room's door. Then he snapped a picture of the club room, complete with the haphazard mess of school bags, gakuran, volleyballs, and street shoes. Then he took hold of Suga's arm and pulled the other boy close. “Hold up the flier,” he whispered as he put their heads together. Suga did, and Daichi took a picture of the pair of them, sloppy tear-stained grins and all. Then he took another one with his lips pressed to Suga's temple and the setter's face scrunched up with laughter.

“One can never have too many memories,” Daichi commented as he looked over the new pictures before locking the phone and sliding it back into his pocket. Then he opened the club room door. “Ready?”

Suga took one last look around then turned with a sigh. “Ready,” he replied, resolutely stepping over the threshold. The _click_ of the door latch when it closed seemed unnaturally loud in the stillness and for a moment he wanted to go back into the room; wanted to freeze time so that he'd never have to face the rest of his life.

But then Daichi's hand slid against his, fingers entwining and palms meeting. The touch grounded him just as it always did. He had faced so many things with Daichi at his side, and he knew he could face anything that was to come. With a sigh he squeezed the hand in his and together they walked away from the room that had been a cornerstone of their lives for the last three years.

It wasn't until they got to the entrance to the gymnasium that Suga noticed something strange. In the short walk from the club room Daichi had changed; his shoulders were slightly slumped, his steps were more of a shuffle and his gaze had dropped to the ground. It was a far cry from the strong, confident, and in control persona that he usually projected to the world.

“Dai?” The dark-haired boy lifted his head, and Suga was surprised to see that his eyes were wide, almost frightened. “You don't have to do this, you know,” he told his friend, speaking softly. “You can leave the key on the hook and we can go. I think Coach and Takeda-sensei would understand.”

“I. . .” Daichi took a deep breath. “I can't. . . I don't think I can do this, Koushi. I don't think I can say good-bye to all of this. To all of them.”

Suga laughed. “I know you're worried about them, Dad-chi.” Daichi grunted at the nickname. “But you'll never know what they can do if you don't leave them to – you know – do it.”

Just then a strident voice rang out from inside the gym. “Oi! If you idiots don't knock it off in the next minute it'll be two laps of flying receives. So get over here, NOW!” There was a grumble of a few different voices, with _Yes, Ennoshita-senpai._ and _Aye aye, Captain!_ mixing together. Hinata's and Nishinoya's voices were, predictably, the loudest.

Daichi and Suga inched forward until they could peek around the doorjamb and saw their former team gathered near the stage, with Yachi kneeling beside a couple of dry cleaners' bags on the floor. Black and orange cloth spilled out as she rifled through the contents before tossing a shirt to Ennoshita with a wide smile. He blushed as he held it to his chest, the **1** clearly displayed. The rest of the team applauded, even Tsukishima.

Nishinoya stuck his head in the other bag and pulled out his old, orange jersey with the **4**. When Narita looked at him questioningly he just shrugged. “It'd be stupid to have a new libero uniform made just so I could wear number two,” he said with a grin. “Besides, I have no intention of letting any of you forget that I'm the vice-captain, no matter what number I wear!”

“So who'll wear number two?” Yamaguchi asked, watching as Yachi handed Tanaka the **3**. All eyes went to Narita, who simply laughed and shook his head. “No way,” he said, plucking the **5** out of Yachi's hand. “I'm perfectly happy with this.”

They all knew that Hinata would never give up the **10** ; it was his tangible connection to the Tiny Giant. The **6** was pushed into Kinoshita's hands, then the **7** and **8** to Tsukishima and Yamaguchi, respectively. That left just one player, and they all turned to him.

Kageyama flushed and took a step back when Yachi stood up, the **2** jersey in her hands. “No, I. . . I don't deserve that.”

Tanaka slapped him on the back hard enough to make the younger boy stagger. “Just take it, Kageyama. We all agree that it'll be in good hands.” Everyone else nodded, and the soon-to-be second year setter took a step forward.

“If. . . If you're all sure,” he mumbled, reaching out with one hand.

“We're sure,” Yachi declared, shoving the jersey into Kageyama's grasp and closing his hand around it. “We're sure,” she repeated with a soft smile.

With the uniform discussion over Coach Ukai called them back to practice, blocking out a new receiving drill. Ennoshita stayed to help Yachi finish sorting through the rest of the uniforms and close up the boxes. Suga noticed a blush staining both of their cheeks whenever their hands touched and the smiles they exchanged. When he glanced to his side he saw that Daichi had caught on as well. The dark head bent close to his. “Come on, Suga-momma. Let's leave the new parents to carry on.”

They were walking through the school's gate ten minutes later when Daichi let out a deep sigh. “They'll be all right,” he said. “They're all so much stronger now, as players and people.”

Suga hummed in agreement. “Hinata even grew 2.1 centimeters,” he commented with a humorous twinkle in his eyes.

Daichi laughed. “Yes, he did. Unfortunately Tsukishima grew 1.9.”

“Well, that means Hinata gained .2 centimeters on him, which I think counts as a win.” He nodded firmly. “Yup, definitely a win.”

“Koushi.”

It was only when he turned back at the sound of his name that Suga realized Daichi had stopped walking. He stepped close and took the dark-haired boy's hand in his. “We'll be all right too,” he whispered, brushing his lips across Daichi's cheek.

“Will we?”

“Of course. We have each other.”

Daichi's hand squeezed his. “Always?”

“Always.”


End file.
